


the space between (is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you)

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, M/M, Soulmate AU, a lot of unhealthy stuff actually, abuse of alcohol abuse, canon-typical unhealthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: When the younger of two soulmates reaches their twenty-first birthday, they'll switch bodies for twenty-four hours. That's how it goes for Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev.There's just one problem: Juno's already engaged to somebody else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onegirlintheback asked:  
> Jupeter Soulmate AU where on the younger's 21 birthday (It's canonically Peter!! :D) Soulmates wake up in the other's body for 24 hours.
> 
> The title comes from The Space Between by the Dave Matthews Band

For more than a year, Peter’s life is constant tension. He plans his heists carefully, always making sure that his plans can be delayed by as much as a week if necessary, and he makes sure that they’re always finished by nightfall. He learns to write in code, so that his plans won’t be read and ruined by prying eyes, and he always hides them before he falls asleep, just in case.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to be the elder partner or the younger one, and he has no way of knowing for sure. He has no idea when his birthday is, or even how old he is, exactly. And that means that any day could be the day.

* * *

By twenty-three, Juno has given up on the idea of having a soulmate. Not everyone gets them, after all, and if he doesn’t, well, that’s fine by him. He’s finally got his life in order: he’s been assigned head detective on a case, he’s made a downpayment on a car, he’s engaged to a great guy. Things are going great.

No point in ruining that over some mystic romance mumbo jumbo. Juno Steel is a self-made dame. Like hell is he gonna roll over for something as stupid as destiny. Where he is is just fine, thanks. Just fine.

* * *

When Peter opens his eyes to unfamiliar aches and an unfamiliar ceiling, the first thing he feels is panic. This is a strange place, a strange room, and he’s lying next to a man he definitely did not fall asleep with. 

Then realization: his soulmate. His twenty-first birthday. It’s finally happened.

Then relief. All that tension, all that anxiety, is finally over with. He just needs to make it through the next twenty-four hours, and then he can put this mess behind him.

He slips out of bed without making a sound, narrowly escaping the hand of the sleeping man who reaches out for him.

There’s a ring on that man’s finger. Another, matching ring is on Peter’s left hand. 

They’re engaged. 

Well. That’s… 

Peter doesn’t have a word for it, even in his own head.

A relief? A disappointment? 

It shouldn’t matter to him. A man in his profession can’t afford any permanent ties, and there are few more permanent than a soulmate. Best to ignore the pang in his chest and put that nonsense behind him once and for all.

* * *

When Juno wakes up, it’s in a luxury hotel and wrapped in silk sheets, and he’s alone.

He lets out a long breath. What do you know? It actually happened. 

Guess he has a soulmate after all. Not that it matters– he’s in a good relationship right now. Probably the best he’s ever going to have. He’s not going to ruin it on a gamble.

But he looks around, just in case. After all, even his fiancee can’t blame him for being curious.

The room is spacious and bright, with huge windows that take up most of one wall and mirrors that take up the opposite one, and light bounces wildly from one to the other. With all those reflective surfaces, it’s impossible not to catch sight of himself, and for a moment it takes his breath away. The person looking back at him is tall and lean and so beautiful it makes Juno’s knees go weak. 

Instinctively he reaches out to touch the man in the mirror, but only ends up marveling at his own slender, delicate hands.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, just staring.

* * *

It takes a bit of trial and error for Peter to find the clothes in the closet that fit him, but he slips out without waking the other man. 

He pointedly avoids looking at the mirror when he visits the bathroom, but as soon as he gets into the apartment’s main room, there’s no avoiding it. The walls are covered in framed pictures. Of their most frequent subjects, one is obviously the man Peter woke up with. The other has the same dark skin that he sees out of the corner of his eye every time he moves his hands.

He lets curiosity drive him forward. His soulmate is almost never alone– he’s always surrounded by other people, often his partner, others likely his coworkers and friends. It’s hardly the kind of life he’d want to leave behind to go running across the galaxy with a stranger. 

One of the only pictures that features his soulmate alone is a posed photo, taken while he’s in uniform. The badge on his chest reads Hyperion City Police Department.

A police officer and a master thief. Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

* * *

There are no passports, no ID cards, not even a receipt in the pockets of his coat (though he finds almost everything else he could possibly imagine)– nothing at all with his soulmate’s name.

The bathroom counter is scattered with high-end makeup; the closet is filled with an assortment of outfits that share no common thread beyond the fact that they’re dripping with style. 

Maybe he’s an actor, but Juno doesn’t remember ever having seen him on the streams. He’s not sure he could forget a face like that.

* * *

Peter slips outside and lets his feet carry him away, only paying vague attention to where he’s going and where he’s been. He’ll need to get back eventually– but if he doesn’t, he’s sure that his soulmate can figure it out once they change back. 

The apartment is full of memories that don’t belong to him, and full of a life that he’ll never be a part of.

He wants to get as far away from it as possible before he feels the urge to look again. 

* * *

Juno finds a pen and complimentary pad of paper on the bedside table.

He’s just enough of a poet to hate everything he writes, and so he spends hours bent over the paper, composing elaborate letters and then tearing them to shreds and flushing them down the toilet. 

By the last page, he finally settles on something simple: his name and contact information, written as clearly as he can with these unfamiliar hands.

It’s a mistake. He knows it when he looks at the paper, just like he knows that it’s perfect.

* * *

When Peter wakes up the next morning, there’s a note on his bedside: the name that he’s spent the last twenty-four hours trying desperately not to learn.

He should destroy it before he gives in to temptation.

Instead he rips it off its pad, folds it carefully, and tucks it between the pages of his Brahmese passport– the one he hasn’t used since he was sixteen.

It’s just one more memory that he should put behind him.

* * *

Juno files his unexpected absence and tries not to think too hard about what he’s done.

His soulmate is out there, and he has Juno’s number, and it’s just a matter of time before he calls. Or visits. Or…

Or.

He twists the engagement ring on his finger. 

He just wants to talk. Just wants to meet that beautiful stranger in person, just once.

Just once.

Just once. Just to chat.

He opens the closet door and pulls out the crimson wedding gown, and stares at it until he can believe his own lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of requests for this to be continued

Juno steps out of the car, and his gaze sweeps the crowd. Hyperion City is the largest colony on Mars, after all; there’s always a crowd, and there’s always something to catch his eyes. Maybe he looks at the gathered people for too long, though. When he glances back, Sam is watching him with a familiar expression.

It’s not a happy look.

“So,” he says, shutting the car door with a bit too much force. “See anyone interesting?” 

“A purse snatcher and a little old lady who’s talking to a streetlight,” Juno says without missing a beat. He’s learned the hard way that hesitating makes him look like he’s hiding something. Then Sam will want to know what he’s not saying, and being entirely blunt will just make him look like even more of a liar, and it’ll turn into another fight, and Juno will spend the rest of the night either feeling like shit or trying to fix it, and he really does not have the energy for this.

Okay, sure, so giving his soulmate his contact information was a shitty move. Telling Sam what he’d done was supposed to make it right, so it wouldn’t be some big secret between them. Instead it’s ruined everything.

No, he tells himself. Not everything. This is all going to blow over eventually– he just needs to give Sam some time. He’s only even acting like this because he’s nervous. Pre-wedding jitters. Everyone gets them, right? 

After all, that’s what made Juno write that note. It doesn’t mean anything.

Nope. Nothing at all.

* * *

Peter looks at his watch. Four more hours before the guards change. Three and a half before he can safely arrive at the museum without attracting attention.

He doodles absently, trying to fill the time, but the minutes stretch and slow like he’s too close to a black hole. One by one he fills the sheets of the complimentary notepad, and one by one he rips them off and crumples them in his pockets, until there’s just one left.

He looks at the blank page for far too long. This hotel isn’t part of the same chain as that other one, but it seems they get their gift items from the same company. The dimensions of the notepad are the precisely the same, as is the color of the paper, the shine of the ink. The logos aren’t even all that different.

If he squints, he could picture a series of words here, written in a messy hand. A message that begins with _Juno Steel_ and ends with _Hyperion City, Mars_.

It’s still tucked into his old passport, along with a comms number and an email address. 

His fingers hover over the hidden seam in his coat.

Perhaps composing a letter could fill another hour or two. 

Instead he grabs the last blank sheet off the pad of paper and crumples it into a ball.

* * *

This case is driving him insane– no matter how hard he beats his head against it, his only breakthrough is the nagging feeling that he’s missing something obvious, and he would catch it if he was just a little smarter, a little faster, or hell, if he slept a little better. 

But he’s barely sleeping at all. Most mornings he wakes up on the couch with a back that feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his body; on the few nights he actually sleeps in bed, the silence on the other side is so stony that he can’t do anything but lie awake and think about trying to reach over and fix this. 

He’s not sure which one is worse.

He just has to hold on a little longer, he tells himself. Just until the wedding, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.

* * *

Peter’s had too many drinks. He knows it.

But he has to get chummy with Abisai Villa, and the best way to do that is to get drunk together. And it’s working– of course it’s working– but now Peter’s laughing too loud, smiling too wide, and sharing too much about things that are far too personal.

“So then it happens, right?” he slurs. “It’s my twenty-first. I wake up, and there I am in his body, right? Only then I look over, and there’s another man!”

“No!” Villa gasps. If nothing else, xe’s a good audience. 

“And more than that– there’s a ring on his finger! My– my fuckin’ soulmate–” He’s going to be sick. “He went and got engaged!”

“The bastard!” 

“I know!” The room is spinning, but at least Villa looks like xe’s ready to die for Peter. “And y’know the worst part?”

“It gets worse?”

“It does! I wake up the next day, right? Back here, ready to put this– this whole mess– behind me. And he leaves me his fuckin’ _number_.” The wail of protest from Villa is too satisfying for Peter’s own good. “What am I supposed to do? Call him up and– and ruin his life? ‘Hi, gorgeous, how about you drop everything and come travel the galaxy with a complete stranger?’ I can’t do that to him.”

“Would you, though?” It’s amazing how somebody that drunk can have such a knowing look on xir face. “If he left you his number, it’s for a reason.”

“Sure. He made a mistake.”

“Then one call can’t hurt.” Villa leans closer. “Do you still have the number?”

Even drunk, Peter can recite it perfectly. He’s looked at it too many times to purge it from his memory. 

“Try it. Give him a call.” 

Drunk on too many cocktails and Villa’s prodding, he pulls out his comms and enters the numbers, one by one. 

Juno Steel, that beautiful bastard. He’ll give him a piece of his mind. He’ll tell him– he’ll tell him–

His finger hovers over the last digit. He’s pretty sure he isn’t actually sober, but the rush of adrenaline coursing through his system definitely feels like it.

Villa stares at him, all excited anticipation. One more digit and he’ll hear Juno Steel’s voice. 

“What are you waiting for?” Villa asks.

“I–” Peter’s hands shake. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

He rushes into the alley to throw up; Villa follows behind him– but not so close that xe sees Peter delete the number off his comms.

* * *

“I’m with _you_ , aren’t I?” Juno’s almost shouting. “I’m marrying _you_.”

“Yeah,” Sam snarls. “Because this other guy hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Even if he did, I’d still choose you. We’ve been together for years. Whatever this is, it can’t compete with that.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sam’s hand closes into a fist– and then uncurls. “You know what? No. I’m done competing.”

And before Juno can say _thank you_ and _can we just move on, then?_ , Sam rips the floor out from under him.

“The wedding is off.” 

“What? No. What are you talking about?” Juno scrambles. This can’t be happening. _It can’t be happening_. 

“Why should I go through with it? So I can spend the rest of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop? Or so I can get all cozy with you and then have some– some _actor_ or whatever sweep in and break up everything?”

Juno grabs Sam’s hand. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You called them here.” 

“It was a mistake, okay? Just a mistake. I swear, that’s all it was. I would never– please, Sam, don’t do this. Sam, I’m begging you–” There are tears in his eyes. “Don’t do this, Sam. I love you.” 

But Sam doesn’t look angry anymore. He just looks tired. “I should have done it a long time ago. It’ll be better this way.”

* * *

Peter never does throw away that passport.

* * *

Juno never does throw away the wedding gown.

He keeps telling himself he will, any day now. 

He spends a lot of time trying to bust himself out of his slump– tries visiting bars and strip clubs and the shadiest parts of town to pick fights with strangers. 

It almost helps.

* * *

There’s a jewel that Peter’s had his eyes on for years now. It’s pure coincidence that it’s going to be on Mars in the coming weeks. In Hyperion City, specifically.

He touches the secret pocket that hides his passport, and he doesn’t feel it pull at his fingers like a neutron star. Enough time has passed. He’s sure of it.

He can go to Mars without the fear of not coming back.

When he arrives, he makes no attempt to seek out his soulmate– there’s no point of that anymore. Instead he does what all thieves do, and he collects information. Part of that involves following the head of security to her favorite bar.

But all his plans fall out of his head when he steps through the doors. There–slumped over the bar, his eyes downcast, his fingers tracing circles around the rim of his glass– is Juno Steel.


	3. Chapter 3

The bartender’s glare moves on as soon as Peter pays the tab; he doesn’t glance back when Peter scrapes Juno off the counter and walks him out the door. A lady like Juno Steel doesn’t belong in a place like this. 

“Hey, stranger,” Juno slurs. There’s not a hint of irony in his tone. He hasn’t so much as glanced at Peter’s face. “How about you buy me a drink first?”

“I’ve already bought you several,” Peter says tightly. The tab wasn’t out of his means, but it was more money than he planned to drop tonight. 

“Oh. Alright, then.” Juno hardly needs another drink. His night’s refreshments are obvious on his breath and in his sweat. This suit will probably have to be dry-cleaned– another inconvenience Peter wasn’t planning for. He should drop Juno off someplace safe and then get back to salvaging this situation immediately.

“Your husband won’t be thrilled to see you like this,” he says, and Juno laughs.

“Babe, nobody wants to see me. ‘Specially not– ‘specially not–” All the humor drains away, leaving him deflated and hollow, and for a moment he looks like he might cry. Just as quickly a manic smile reappears on his face. “But what do you care, right? ‘s have some fun.” 

He swings in for a kiss that takes some dexterity to avoid, but Peter takes pride in his agility. He sidesteps it easily, not even dropping Juno in the process.

“None of that,” he says patiently, and flags down a cab. “Do you still live on Jemison Way?”

Juno laughs again, far too loud. “No. God no. Haven’t lived there in _ages_.” 

“Then where do you live?”

“Over on… on…” Juno makes a vague gesture. “On the thing. Shit side of town, but not as shitty as Oldtown. Thing.” 

Peter sighs. This is getting to be absurd. “Let’s try the direct route, shall we?” He was hoping to avoid it, but it can’t be helped. The moment he slides his hand into Juno’s pocket, Juno’s arms wrap around him and he leans in for another attempted kiss. Peter only barley manages to slide out of his grip, Juno’s comms in hand.

“Stop that,” he says. There are no emergency contacts programmed into the comms, and the only favorited numbers are the PI Registry and several restaurants that look like they deliver. The recent locations screen yields better results: there’s a star on he map labeled as home. 

He gives the address to the cabby and looks back at Juno. He’s far too drunk to be trusted to get inside safely, and without his partner’s number, there’s no way of knowing for sure that he’ll know to come get him when he arrives.

There’s only one thing to do, then. He guides Juno into the cab and sits down beside him.

They get less than a block before Juno’s crawling into his lap, only to be shoved off again. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re married, Juno.”

“’s this some kind of roleplay?” Juno asks. “Gonna hafta remind me what the rules are.” 

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. _Very well._ “The rules are that you sit on your hands and don’t move until I say otherwise. Or you’ll be punished,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily. That much he’ll leave to Juno’s husband. 

They make it the rest of the way without too many incidents, though by the time they arrive at the apartment building, the alcohol has set in to the point where he almost needs to be carried into the elevator. There’s some fumbling with keys before the door opens.

Later that night, Peter will realize that he didn’t bother to knock. At some point he must have put it together without realizing it, but a look inside the apartment confirms the truth.

It’s small and dank as a prison cell, with curtains drawn tight and laundry kicked into odd corners and empty bottles arranged around an overflowing trashcan. There are no photographs on the wall, no mementos, nothing at all except some art pieces that look like they were sold off a street corner. There’s a bloodstained shirt soaking in the sink. The bed is empty.

There’s nobody here but the two of them.

“Get some rest, Juno,” he says, depositing him among sheets that are long overdue for a wash. He’s about to turn away when a clumsy hand catches the seam of his coat. 

“Wait.” It’s the sincerity in his voice that gets Peter. It’s the aching sadness in his eyes when Peter turns around. “Please don’t go.”

Every ounce of good sense in Peter’s head tells him that he should get out of here. He has a jewel to steal. A heist to run. He has no reason in all the galaxy to stick around.

He pries Juno’s fingers off his coat and replaces them on the bed with a gentle pat. “If you need me, I’ll be on the couch.” 

* * *

When Juno wakes up, he’s sore and aching– but it feels like he’s hungover, not like he got laid last night.

And that’s… well, he doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Either relieved or disappointed. Maybe a little of both.

Vaguely he remembers that he met someone beautiful, that he went home with them– but that was probably a dream, wasn’t it? It’s usually a dream.

He moves through the morning like a zombie: he brushes his teeth. Takes a piss. A shower. Peroxides the last of the blood out of yesterday’s shirt. Throws it in the laundry pile. Digs a cleanish pair of pants out of the _other_ laundry pile and puts it on. Trudges into the kitchen to hunt for something vaguely breakfast-shaped.

Instead he finds a man leaning against the counter, nursing a coffee and watching him over the top of a newspaper.

And maybe that wouldn’t be all that surprising– it wouldn’t be the first time he’s woken up to strangers in his apartment– except this isn’t a stranger. Not completely.

He lets out a breath. “It’s you.”

The man in his kitchen looks unimpressed by his deduction. “Mm-hm.”

“But–” He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with the dumb questions. “What are you doing here?”

“You were very insistent,” his soulmate says flatly, but he holds up an empty mug. “Coffee?”

This is impossible. It can’t be happening. Sure, he’s starting to remember more of last night– but that was just a dream. Just too much alcohol. Everybody looks like either his soulmate or Sam when he gets drunk enough. Hell, that’s half the reason why he drinks as much as he does.

“Why are you here?” he asks. “Why– why now?”

“Mostly coincidence.” The man carefully folds up his newspaper and sets it on the counter behind him. “I was in the area and I ran into the only familiar face on Mars.” 

And just like that, all of Juno’s other questions are answered. No wonder it took his soulmate so long to reach out to him: he never intended to reach out at all. He would never actually come here for _him_.

_Why would he?_

Juno never realized how many petty little fantasies he’d built for himself until he feels them crumble. All the fairy-tale plots and happily-ever-afters that only exist in Northstar productions, all the secret faith in platitudes about how everything happens for a reason and someday he’ll get what he deserves.

It didn’t all happen _for a reason_. He didn’t lose Sam just to find something _better_ someday.

He knows what he deserves. He’s always known.

It’s painful and jagged and hard, but it’s more solid than anything he’s felt in years.

“Well, thanks for getting me home in one piece,” he says. “Now you can leave.”


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours ago, Peter knew how to feel. He didn’t even have to look hard to find a hundred little faults with Juno Steel– the drunkenness, the infidelity, the overenthusiastic physicality. He held onto his irritation like a shield, keeping it between himself and his soulmate. 

He wasn’t counting on the cracks in Juno’s armor– the little moments of pain in his eyes– the vulnerable, timid way he begged Peter not to go– the awe on his face as he looks at Peter through sober eyes. 

In less than a breath it’s snuffed out. Peter watches closely enough to catch the flash of despair before Juno’s expression hardens. There’s no emotion there anymore– only flat acceptance.

“I’m gonna go put on a shirt,” he mutters, and vanishes into his bedroom without another glance. 

The apartment feels colder than it was a few moments before; the sudden emptiness is palpable, like the buzz of static on his skin. Peter’s accustomed to having command of any room he enters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so completely shut out.

And so he leaves.

It’s only reasonable. After all, he has work to do. Lost time to make up for. A heist to plan. A suit to dry clean, which will first require emptying its many, many pockets.

It’s better this way, without the distraction of Juno Steel.

Or it would be.

He isn’t sure when it happened– when that carefully constructed shield slipped enough to leave him exposed– but somehow Juno got his hooks into him. As he works, his mind keeps wandering back to the miserable detective he found in that bar.

It’s a distraction he can’t afford.  He’s missing key details, making careless mistakes, forgetting fundamental aspects of the job that might just prove the difference between getting caught and making a clean getaway. This is exactly what he’s spent all this time trying to avoid.

He could throw himself deeper into his work, devote himself entirely to this heist until it consumes every waking moment, and force himself back onto the right track.

Or, alternatively, he could entertain this little distraction until it passes like the passing phase that it is.

He never was very good at self-denial.

It doesn’t take long before Peter decides he’s made the right decision. Casing Juno Steel’s life might offer him less promise of a monetary reward, but it’s far more entertaining. It seems the dear detective has left the police force in favor of becoming a private investigator, and that leaves him with a colorful variety of cases. Peter follows along in secret, watching the drama unfold in an endless stream of puzzling mysteries and narrow escapes and words of tearful gratitude sobbed into Juno’s shoulders.

It seems like gruff misanthropy is Juno’s favorite persona, but he can be rather charming when he wants to be, and he waxes poetic when he thinks nobody can hear him.

Peter finds he especially enjoys the poetry.

Juno doesn’t go back to the bar, though he doesn’t stop drinking– instead, he buys his liquor by the bottle, usually in the kind of quantities that might be appropriate for a small night club. 

He drinks alone, filling his glass without looking as he pores over his latest case at the kitchen table. Peter watches him from the building across the alley; Juno’s air conditioner is broken, and so the window is left open to let in the little bit of simwind that disturbs the air. It’s a poor excuse for a window; there’s not even a screen to keep out the few insects that populate Mars. And with the fire escape so close to the open window, anyone could climb inside.

Peter certainly wouldn’t have any trouble.

He wants to. Needs to. He feels it tugging at him, that familiar pull that he’s been resisting all these years. It was easy when there were entire lightyears between them. It’s harder when he can see Juno right there. Harder when he can no longer imagine a cozy domestic life for the brave detective and his loving husband. Harder when he can’t say with certainty that Juno is better off without him.

He finds himself silently climbing the fire escape before he’s fully made the decision to do it. It’s purely a whim. A harmless flight of fancy. Besides, by the time he climbs through the open window, Juno is a few short sips away from losing consciousness entirely.

He slips inside on silent feet, but he needn’t have bothered; even when he steps on a creaking floorboard, Juno doesn’t look up. Not until Peter lays his hand on Juno’s shoulder.

For a moment, Juno stares at the hand, dumbstruck by its presence there. It takes a few seconds for his gaze to follow the arm to its source.

His shoulders sag and his face falls, impossibly childlike. “You came back,” he slurs.

“No, Juno,” Peter murmurs. “This is only a dream.” But he offers Juno his hand. “Come here. Let’s get you into bed.”

* * *

Juno’s hangovers aren’t as bad as they used to be. Probably has something to do with drinking more before the end of his binges– these days, he keeps waking up with a glass of water at his bedside table. 

* * *

Tonight’s binge may have been self-medication. Juno looks like he got into a fight with a meat cleaver. The wounds should be tender, but he doesn’t resist or pull away when Peter cleans the cuts on his face. 

* * *

Water is one thing, but it’s a whole lot harder for Juno to rationalize away the bandages on his face and hands. He couldn’t have applied them so neatly if he was sober; there’s no way he could have managed it drunk.

He searches his apartment, but can’t find any paperwork that implies he stopped at a clinic on his way home last night.

* * *

When Peter climbs in through the window, Juno is curled up on the disintegrating couch.

“’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted,” he mumbles, his voice slurred. Tears are welling in his bleary eyes. “I’m trying to be better. I’m trying. _I’m trying._ ”

Peter wraps his arms around Juno and holds him, _just holds him_ , until the tears are long dried and the sobs even into the steady breaths of sleep. By the time Peter can convince himself to let go, it’s nearly dawn.

* * *

Juno thought it was just his imagination, but it wasn’t. Even after the sinus headache passed and the swelling in his eyes went down, he can still smell it, clinging to his skin and clothes in a way even the liquor can’t mask.

The same scent that clung to his couch the morning after his–

After _he_ spent the night.

* * *

By all rights, Peter should have no trouble sleeping, but he spends hours lying in bed, his hands over his face. He wants to go back to that dingy little apartment and make sure Juno’s alright. 

It’s all he can think about. 

But he’s a patient man. He can wait until tonight. Pass off his visit as another dream.

He can wait. He has to wait.

* * *

Juno spends the night sober, poring over old casefiles and trying to pretend he isn’t waiting for anything.

He better not be waiting for anything, because nothing happens.

* * *

Peter didn’t realize how much he’s grown to count on Juno’s drinking until he suddenly stops. 

The window is still open, and Peter watches Juno from across the alley.

Maybe this case is more important than the others, or more difficult, but it must require a clear mind, because he doesn’t so much as look at a bottle that night– or the next. Or the next.

* * *

Maybe he’s being paranoid, but Juno can sense someone watching him at night. 

Only this doesn’t feel like paranoia. He feels… safe. Which is weird. That’s not a thing he feels often, and it’s especially not something he should be feeling if he thinks his apartment is being invaded in the middle of the night. 

He doesn’t want it to stop, either. He just wants to know for sure.

The next day he stops by the liquor store for a fresh bottle of gin and dumps half of it down the sink, topping off the bottle again with water.

All he has to go on is whiff of cologne and a hunch– but he’s learned by now to trust his gut.

* * *

Peter doesn’t quite like how relieved he feels to see Juno fill a tumbler with gin. He shouldn’t want to see Juno this way– but it’s the only way he can justify seeing him at all.

* * *

Juno’s almost given this whole thing up as a waste of time and liquor when he hears the muted rattle of the fire escape and the scrape of shoes on brick.

The bottle of watered-down booze is nearly empty, and so he turns his head slowly, blinking like he’s in the middle of a heavy fog.

His soulmate hangs back, lingering just inside the windowsill for a few long moment. The look on his face is warm and soft and a little concerned.

Juno can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that– or maybe he can, and he thought it was just a dream.

The other man wraps an arm around his shoulders with a gentle hum. “It looks like you’ve had a long night.”

Juno offers a wordless grunt in reply.

“All of this can wait until morning,” his soulmate says. “Come here. Let’s get you into bed.” 

The suggestion is a little bit disturbing, but Juno’s resolved to follow this where it leads. He lets the other man tug him to his feet and walk him to the other room. A blanket is pulled back and then drawn cozily over Juno’s shoulders. A glass of cool, fresh water is held to his lips, and he’s urged to drink. 

And all the while, the other man looks at Juno like he’s actually worth something.

And… hell, if Juno’s going to play drunk, then he’ll give into his impulses. While his soulmate is still in arm’s reach, he leans in–

A gentle hand pushes him back onto the pillow before the kiss can land. “You’re too drunk for that, love.” 

_Love_. Nobody’s ever called him that before.

“Maybe I’m not as drunk as you think I am,” Juno says, his voice still slurred.

“Maybe not, but I’d rather not take the chance.” His hand is still on Juno’s shoulder, keeping him fixed to the pillow. Tentatively Juno reaches out and touches that hand, tracing the lines of those long fingers.

“Then come when I’m sober.”

* * *

_Come when I’m sober._

Peter weighs the idea like a knife in his hand. It’s entirely too tempting an offer, and precisely the kind that will end in disaster if he takes it.

He knows well enough that these little rendezvous can only happen because Juno’s too inebriated to be properly alarmed. In a more clear state of mind, he’d likely be horrified– furious– murderous– and not unjustly so.

Peter shouldn’t care. He _didn’t_ care when he started this– or maybe he was better at ignoring it then. But he does now.

_Oh, Juno. What have you done to me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every so often I remember that I’ve got some rather young followers, so I feel the need to add a disclaimer: don’t do… like any of this. Juno’s actively self-destructive and Peter’s got a barely-functioning moral compass, and they’re both fictional.


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter climbs through the window, Juno’s slumped on the couch, watching the last few ounces of gin swirl around the bottom of the bottle. He kneels before Juno, gently tugging the bottle out of his hand.

Juno looks up, his bleary eyes so very sad that Peter wants to wrap his arms around him. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Juno swallows, pulling back at the bottle like he plans to drain the rest. 

He smooths Juno’s hair. “You can tell me, love. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” Juno bites his lip. “I… I can’t remember your name.” 

“Is that what’s worrying you?” He strokes Juno’s hair again. “You haven’t forgotten. I’m afraid I don’t tell anyone my name. It would take someone very special for me to tell it now.” 

He’s far too drunk to hide the twinge of disappointment on his face. Perhaps that’s deserved. After all, who in all the galaxy is more singular than my soulmate? 

Besides, in the state he’s in, he’ll never remember past morning. 

Peter leans in just enough to press his lips to Juno’s forehead. “It’s Peter, love. You can call me Peter.”

* * *

 

_Peter_.

It shouldn’t make Juno’s heart skip a beat, but it does. It’s just a name, after all. Just a pair of syllables. But after years of wondering, of fantasizing about a face with nothing to call him, this feels like everything.

* * *

 

Peter’s tucking Juno into bed when a pair of arms wrap around his neck, tugging him closer.

“Juno,” he warns gently.

“Don’t want you to leave yet,” his detective mumbles, already half asleep. “Stay a little longer.”

Peter glances at the open window. There are still a few hours yet until dawn. It couldn’t hurt to stay a little while longer.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Just a little while.”

He slips out of his shoes and on top of the covers, and immediately Juno rolls closer against him.

It’s a lovely sight, Juno drifting off beside him, making little unintelligible noises as he slips into a dream.

It would be an even better sight to wake up to.

* * *

 

It’s easier to play drunk late at night, when Juno’s too tired to be coherent even on purpose. Even easier with this new arrangement, when he’s half asleep and Peter’s warm and cozy beside him.

“The first time I saw you, I think I stared at the mirror for hours. I couldn’t stop looking at you.” 

Peter’s hand pauses on his hip. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” 

That draws Juno back into awareness, but he keeps his voice soft. “Why didn’t you?”

“You were engaged. You had a good job. A bright future. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.” 

He tries not to tense as all the drowsiness drains from him. 

Because that can’t be right. That _can’t_. 

“I–” It takes a moment to force sleep back into his voice. “I think I did that just fine on my own.” 

Peter sighs into Juno’s hair. “My life isn’t the kind you would want to be a part of.”

“Don’t I get some say in that? I mean, I don’t exactly have room to be picky.”

“Shh,” Peter murmurs. “No need to get yourself excited. You’re…” He pauses. Frowns. Leans in and inhales. And suddenly Juno’s regretting filling the liquor bottles completely with water this past week, because there’s no booze to smell on his breath. “You’re not really drunk, are you?”

In a time like this, a detective only really has one of two options: he can come clean or he can double down.

“I… _was_ drunk,” he says carefully.

Peter sits up, stony-faced. “How long ago, exactly?”

Juno would much rather be having sleepy confessions wrapped up in bed, but that’s not going to happen, is it? He sits up as well, too aware of the space between them. “Two weeks ago, maybe?” 

“Two weeks.” Peter takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been lying about this for two weeks.”

“Remind me, how long have you been sneaking in through my window?”

“And _this_ was the natural response? It didn’t occur to you to say something to me?”

Okay, so maybe Juno’s been wondering the same thing for a while. “Well… yeah,” he says slowly. Weeks ago, it would have been impossible for him to get the words out, but he’s had a whole lot of practice at making humiliating confessions lately. “I didn’t want you to stop coming by.” 

“Of course not.” He still hasn’t put his glasses back on. He’s still pinching the bridge of his nose, his hand obscuring most of his face. “I was getting worried for the state of your liver, you know.”

“It’s probably not in the best shape,” Juno admits. 

“Then perhaps this is a habit we should break.”

Juno swallows. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. He’s trying to find the right words to say when he hears the click of Peter’s glasses being set on the bedside table. 

“Besides,” Peter says, suddenly so much closer than he was before. “Now that you’re sober, there’s something I’d much rather be doing right now.”


End file.
